Page 56 of Bagging the Blueliner
I huffed out a sigh. “My sisters suck.”
A small smile crept onto his lips. “I’ve got one of those.” Eyeing me carefully, he offered, “Why don’t you come sit on my face and tell me all about it.”
Wait, what?
“Cal, this is serious. I didn’t come here to get laid.” Maybe this was a bad idea after all.
“Who said I wasn’t being serious? What better than a mental and physical release to get your head back on track?”
I stared at him. “You want me to get off while spilling my guts about the most demoralizing Christmas of my life?”
“It can’t hurt. Might even be cathartic.”
“And where did you get your degree in psychology, Mr. Berg?”
Leaning forward, he kissed me softly. “Let me make you feel good, Hannah. Unburden yourself. I promise you’ll feel better.”
How could I argue with that?
Finding some of the fire extinguished by my sisters, I teased, “I’m not even sure you could get me in the mood.”
I watched as Cal’s pupils dilated and his breathing changed. “Is that a challenge?” he growled.
“Can’t be a challenge when I’m positive you can’t do it,” I retorted.
That was enough to provoke him, and he hungrily claimed my mouth. His tongue slid past my lips, tangling with mine, and I moaned into his mouth.
Shifting his weight, he pinned me to the couch. I would never admit it to him, but I loved having him crush me. It added a whole new level to my arousal—he was the only man who could make me feel small.
As he moved his mouth to suck a sensitive spot on my neck, his hand dipped beneath the waistband of my leggings. Cal groaned when he discovered I wasn’t wearing panties. His fingers grazed my clit, and my hips bucked, seeking more friction.
Instead, he pulled his hand away, and I whined. “Not fair.”
Kneeling above me, he held the hand in question up victoriously. It was shiny and slick with my arousal. If I hadn’t goaded him into giving me exactly what I wanted, I would have liked to smack the smug smile right off his face.
“You make it so easy, baby. I bet I could make you wet with only a look.”
Even though he was probably right, I wasn’t going to admit it.
When I didn’t respond, he licked his fingers clean. Fuck, that was hot.
Leaning back, he curled his fingers in a come-hither motion. “Now, be a good girl and sit on my face. Time for your therapy session.”
He was ridiculous, but I was all revved up, and he knew I wouldn’t say no.
Crawling over his body, I only made it far enough that I was straddling his waist when his strong hands gripped my ass, hauling me the rest of the way.
Smirking down at him, I taunted, “Didn’t think this one through, did you? I’m still wearing pants.”
Cal chuckled moments before his giant hands tugged at the stretchy black fabric until I heard the seams pop.
Shocked—and a little indignant—I exclaimed, “How am I going to get back to my apartment?”
“Not my problem. You made it up here once already without pants on.”
We both knew that was different. The jersey I’d worn that day was long enough to be considered a dress.
With an iron grip on my hips, Cal lowered my throbbing pussy to his face. I felt the vibrations of his words against my sensitive flesh as he commanded, “Now, talk.”
